GOT: I Plunder Skills — Chapter 395 - The Good Student Who Wants a Reward

Daenerys's voice cut through the soft silver light of the room.

Lynn closed the door and turned to look at her.

In the moonlight, she wore only a silk nightgown, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders. Those violet eyes were filled with wounded pride and the fury of betrayal.

"Daenerys." Lynn walked toward her, wanting to explain.

"Don't touch me!"

She shot to her feet, stepping back like an enraged cat.

Her body trembled, tears pooling in her eyes but stubbornly refusing to fall.

"One?"

She held up a single finger, her voice gone hoarse.

"I was naive enough to think you had at most one woman! For the alliance!"

"And what do I find?"

"Sansa Stark. Arya Stark. Margaery Tyrell. Cersei Lannister..."

Each name she spoke felt like a blade sliding between her ribs.

"Are you planning to marry every noble lady in Westeros before your alliances are complete?"

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"What am I to you, Lynn? A trophy hauled back from Essos? A silver-haired pet to show off to the others?"

Her words hit him like a fist to the chest.

He stepped forward, pulled her against him before she could resist, and held her tight.

"I'm sorry."

That was all he could say.

Any explanation would have been hollow.

Daenerys fought against him, small fists hammering his chest, but the blows grew weaker with every second until she was only shaking, broken into helpless sobs. She buried her face in his shirt and wept, hot tears soaking through the fabric.

"I thought..." Her voice was thick with it. "I thought I was special."

"You are." Lynn stroked her hair, his voice low and steady.

"You always will be."

Time passed. Neither of them moved to measure it. Slowly, her crying quieted.

She lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen, and looked straight at him.

"I don't care who they are. I don't care what history you have with them."

Her gaze hardened into something absolute.

"But your heir will be born from me."

"A prince with True Dragon Blood."

She rose on her toes and kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was possession , unambiguous and unquestionable.

"Prove it to me," she breathed against his ear.

"Prove I'm different."

Lynn's heart stopped for a beat.

He swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the wide bed with its covering of soft furs.

Outside the window, the moon slipped quietly behind a cloud.

Only muffled sounds remained in the room. And then...

...

Sansa Stark could not sleep.

At the feast, the silver-haired girl named Daenerys had been like a full moon in a clear sky, drawing everyone's eyes without meaning to.

She was beautiful. Regal. She carried the kind of authority that couldn't be learned.

But what truly kept Sansa awake was the way Lynn had looked at her.

A cold, unfamiliar dread settled in her chest , one she had never felt before.

Not even when Myrcella arrived had she felt anything like this.

She couldn't wait any longer.

She changed into her finest nightgown, slipped quietly from her room, and made her way down the corridor toward Lynn's chamber.

When she reached that familiar door and raised her hand to knock, she heard it.

A woman's voice, barely muffled, leaking through the gap.

Sansa went still.

The color drained from her face in an instant.

She knew that voice. It was Daenerys.

Her mind went blank. Her hands and feet turned to ice. She stood frozen like a fool in the corridor, unable to move forward and unable to make herself leave.

Then a voice came from behind her, soft and unhurried, carrying the faintest edge of mockery.

"Little dove. Eavesdropping is hardly the behavior of a lady."

Sansa flinched hard and spun around.

Cersei Lannister was leaning against the wall a few feet away, a glass of red wine in her hand, watching her with measured amusement.

"I , I wasn't —"

Sansa's face burned red. The words tangled themselves into nothing.

"Shh."

Cersei pressed a finger to her lips.

Then she stepped closer, her gaze drifting past Sansa to rest for a moment on the closed door. A knowing curve touched the corner of her mouth.

"Does it feel," Cersei said quietly, "like being the girl no one chose?"

Sansa's eyes went red. She bit her lip and said nothing.

"Tears won't help you, little dove."

Cersei swirled the wine slowly, the deep red catching what little light there was.

"Tears only make men think you're cheap."

She studied Sansa's face , so much like Catelyn's, yet younger, softer, still unmarked , and something in her expression shifted. Grew distant.

For a moment she seemed to be looking at someone else entirely. A girl from long ago who had believed, foolishly and completely, that love was enough.

"Do you really think," Cersei said, her voice edged with quiet scorn, "that waiting patiently like a good little lady, hoping he'll take pity on you, will ever win his heart?"

She let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Don't be naive, dove."

"Men like him have no shortage of obedient women."

"You have to make him need you. Crave you. Make him feel that only from you can he get something no one else can give."

Sansa stared at her. The words weren't landing yet. She could see them but not quite hold them.

"Men are hunters," Cersei said. "The thrill is in the chase." She leaned in, lowering her voice to something just above a whisper. "You cannot keep letting him win without effort."

"Make him want something he can't have."

"Surprise him. Give him something new."

"Let him discover that this little dove doesn't only sing."

She paused.

"She bites."

Cersei straightened, took a slow sip of wine, and turned. Her footsteps were unhurried, perfectly composed, as she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Sansa stood alone.

For a long moment she didn't move.

Then Cersei's words cut through the fog like a blade through gauze.

Yes.

She had always been waiting. Always responding. Like a kitten crouched by a door, tail trembling, begging for whatever scraps of attention she could get.

But the woman in that room , she wasn't waiting. She was taking. She was claiming.

Something shifted in Sansa's eyes.

She turned and walked back to her room with quick, certain steps.

...

The next morning.

Ned Stark stood in Lynn's room, studying the great map of Westeros spread across the wall, his brow deeply furrowed.

"Stannis has lost his mind entirely." Weariness threaded through his voice. "The slaughter he's carried out in King's Landing — it makes the Mad King look restrained."

Lynn sat with his eyes closed. Through his Green Vision, the whole of Westeros unfolded across his mind in precise detail.

Stannis's forces were massing in King's Landing. Red priests moved through the ranks, spreading their fever-bright devotion to the Lord of Light. Grain and steel were pouring toward the front lines in an unbroken stream.

Meanwhile, out in the Westerlands, Ned's dear son Robb , with the Riverrun army at his back and the Blackfish guiding his hand , was making himself a persistent nuisance, raiding Lannister holdings in a dozen places at once and keeping Tywin's forces too pinned down to consolidate.

"The situation isn't hopeless." Lynn opened his eyes. "We still have time to prepare."

"Hmm." Ned nodded. He moved toward the table, suddenly aware of how dry his throat had gone. "All this talking — my throat's parched."

"There's wine in the cabinet." Lynn nodded toward the corner of the room.

Ned crossed to it, his back to the door, and began to pour.

The door gave a CREAK and eased open.

Sansa walked in.

Gone was the flowing noble gown. In its place was something that made the air in the room shift , a maid's outfit, fitted close, tracing every line of her figure with remarkable clarity.

She wasn't wearing her usual expression either. The careful shyness had been set aside. What replaced it was something bolder. A slow, knowing smile.

She didn't notice the figure at the cabinet with his back to her.

Her eyes found only the man in the chair.

She walked to him, and with a deliberate grace, she crouched down before him, both hands resting light on his knees, her face tilted up toward his.

"My king."

Her voice was honey-smooth, sweetness in every syllable.

"I've always been a very good student."

A beat.

"And I've come to collect... my reward."

➤ Next: Slightly Awkward